


How to Disappear

by EarthsickWithoutYou



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:07:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25092841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthsickWithoutYou/pseuds/EarthsickWithoutYou
Summary: After the fall, Will struggles to reconcile his conscience to the happiness in his new life with Hannibal, and all they will become together.  Should he try once more to end them both and the madness they inspire in each other, or is there another means of influence offering a glimmer of hope through tenderness?
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 159





	How to Disappear

The ocean had given them back to each other, but in doing so it had left the decision over their fate back in its original place: Will’s hands. He had tried to give the responsibility away, never dreaming they would survive the fall. When he wound his arms around Hannibal’s neck and left a single, blood-streaked kiss there before they tumbled, Will had been dreaming of disappearing into the fathomless depths, of both of them swallowed up and purified. They’d be found a few days later washed up on the shore, pale and sea-bloated and still clinging together. He hoped they would be together in hell, where they couldn’t hurt anyone else but each other. That was the only safe place for them to exist like this, as one, the way it was now. They had survived and they were bonded deeper than Will could have imagined. 

Their recovery passed in a quiet, bare-bones simplicity. Hannibal turned his body during the fall, as he had placed himself in front of the window to be willing sacrifice to the dragon, to protect Will. He took the greater damage of their collision, adding to his wounds from the fight with Dolarhyde a dislocated shoulder and terrible black and purple bruising all over the back of his body. Whenever Will looked at it, as he spread healing salve over the wounds and saw the Verger brand standing stark against swollen flesh turned to the color of a fresh plum, guilt and regret seized him in a dizzying blur. He would press his hand to the brutalized skin, which hurt Hannibal, but Hannibal smiled and closed his eyes because he loved Will doing this. 

Will could see his fingerprints fading from yellow-peach back to purple and it registered for him with euphoric clarity, how much Hannibal loved him. How Will wanted this assurance three years ago in Florence when he went looking for the man who had left him, seemingly with such heartless disdain, with a smile. He needed the comfort of knowing all the misery had some purpose, that his feelings weren’t poured away uselessly down a drain into a void of Hannibal’s ego and domineering nature. And the only answer he got back, at that juncture, was a bonesaw to his forehead. 

Finally, Hannibal’s fearful pride and the defenses he built around his heart had shattered, leaving nothing but surrender. Will had everything he wanted, but he could have had it so much sooner, at his house the day Hannibal sat by his bed hoping the teacup had come back together. He didn’t have to send Hannibal to prison, torment them both with separation and drag more innocents into their mess. Even now, it was hopeless. They were too exhausted and on too many painkillers for him to make any more decisions, but the day would come. Will would have to try and end them again, wipe away the damage they would do to the world and the lives that would be sacrificed in a glut of bloody glory if he _ever_ fully gave into what they were as one.

For so long, Will had awaited his own becoming with tremulous agitation, but now he understood that the real answer was _their_ becoming. Anyone else even vaguely in range of them should be terrified. He knew he was. The weight in his heart was worse than any physical ordeal, worse than the new scar on his face that still stung fiercely, worse than the burn in his lungs when Hannibal heaved him onto the sand and frantically checked him over to make sure he was still alive. Hannibal, who had been much more injured, yet functioned out of a superhuman adrenaline to care for Will first. Hannibal, who someday Will would still have to kill.

“I’m sorry,” Will would whisper, and Hannibal murmured, “Don’t be.”

Will would place the salve on the bedside table of their scuzzy little motel room in the middle of nowhere, and he would circle the bed to lay down in front of Hannibal. It was much easier on Hannibal's back if they rested in this position. The older man never touched him except for at this time, when they were tipping back into drugged, languorous slumber, healing little by little as Will hated knowing they were healing and he’d have to face reality again soon. For now he could let Hannibal wrap one arm around his middle, bury his nose in his curls and sleep in peace.

***

It happened after dinner one night a few months later. Although he had access to only the most basic ingredients, Hannibal kept finding ways to create luscious meals almost on the scale of his former life. Tonight, he made them steak, juicy, rare and bloody, the red essence seeping into the creamy mashed potatoes and even filling the spinach with a rich, gamey flavor that ignited something in Will, something no longer buried but forever rustling right under the surface of his skin. Hunger and want for Hannibal, for them to tear each other to pieces, for the hunt and the thrill of the chase, anatomy and cooking lessons he would count as the happiest times of his life, if only he could be so selfish. 

There were sharp knives for cutting the steak, sharper than necessary, actually, as if Hannibal knew, and had left resources so that Will had every option available to him. Hannibal was nothing if not fair, in his own twisted way. He was methodical where Will was unpredictable, and it broke Will’s heart that they would never get the chance to know if that would be as delightful a combination as it seemed.

Hannibal had watched Will eating in a quiet mode of contentment, smiling with pride to see how Will enjoyed the food. The intense but low-burning desire in his soulful brown eyes was safely cordoned off by patient affection. He was never going to make a move on Will; he was waiting. 

This was a sweet little place they had found together, an abandoned cabin in the countryside. It was winter now and everything was dead outside, but in spring there would be gorgeous flowers. There could be walks to the nearby village for groceries and the pleasant, ambling enjoyment of each other’s company, perhaps their hands joined and fingers gently rubbing over each other, maybe incidental kisses on each other’s cheeks in the general store picking out vegetables and wine and food for the dog they would have by then. The fantasy blossomed out of Will’s control every time he indulged it. He knew how they would tease each other with small touches until the sun set and they were alone again and the barely bottled tension exploded.

Hannibal was gorgeous. Will admired him, starting to clear the dishes with his usual neat precision and studied nonchalance. His silver hair was still shorn close from his time in prison, only making his otherworldly-handsome features more startling, more clear. He was sexy in a refined but earthy way that always set Will’s pulse jumping, and he was strong again now, deft and knowing. He studied Will always, like a work of art, noting Will’s responses to his almost bashful, always vague overtures of physical touch, whatever he could get away with and still avoid pushing it too far. Hannibal would be an attentive, adoring, _thorough_ lover, and Will thought about that all the time.

If he gave in, it would all be over. The last of his goodness, however artificially moulded by nurture, would be decimated and all that would be left of Will was the monster, Hannibal’s soulmate. Who would they hurt first? Bedelia, most likely, and Will wasn’t too bothered by that. A gratifying little starter murder to stave off his remaining jealousy. After that, though, he thought it would probably be Alana and Margot, and then...really anyone they felt like killing. He knew, he knew, he _knew_. They wouldn’t be able to stop. He wouldn’t want to stop.

He could stop now, stop everything while there was still time.

“You cooked, I should do the dishes,” he suggested, following Hannibal to the sink with a mildly reproving smile.

“I don’t mind,” Hannibal said lightly. He was washing a glass, vulnerable with his hands soapy-wet, when Will grabbed him from behind and pressed the steak knife to his gut.

“I love you, Hannibal,” Will sighed. Tears stung his eyes, but he had to get through this. He’d learned how to cut human flesh, where to exert pressure to create the most bloodlet. He knew how to make sure Hannibal didn’t survive this stabbing, as Will had survived that rain-soaked night in Baltimore. 

He started to push the knife past the exterior boundaries, puncturing the fabric of Hannibal’s soft grey sweater, finding the tender skin beneath, digging the blade inside. Hannibal stood completely still and closed his eyes as one tear streaked down his cheek. Oh, that face, the one Will loved to look on the very most, those cheeks with those high, regal bones beneath, those full, tempting lips trembling now. He turned his face only to press a kiss to the inside of Will’s finger clutched around his cheek and chin.

The knife clattered to the floor and Will was crying, hysterical, as Hannibal quickly dried his hands and came to him, placing a large, comforting hand heavy on his shoulder. He was still dripping blood onto the floor, fat, crimson puddles accumulating at a speed that made Will panic. 

“No,” Will sputtered, pulling Hannibal’s sweater up over his head. Hannibal groaned helplessly at the pain this caused, but immediately afterwards he said, “It’s alright, Will.”

“It’s not,” Will sobbed, grabbing for the first aid kit in the cabinet under the sink. The cut wouldn’t need stitches, but it looked nasty and mean now, and he felt nasty and mean, every inch the monster he was trying to avoid being by killing his beloved beast. “I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t be.” Hannibal stroked his fingers through Will’s hair as Will cleaned the wound. He winced only a little bit, then as Will taped the bandage in place he added, “I should have said this to you already, but I hoped you knew.”

Will looked up at him. He was kneeling before Hannibal, weeping and sniveling and _hating_ himself. His eyes shone, broken cerulean gems in the merry, generous light of the kitchen. 

“I belong to you. You may do what you like with me, and I will thank you for it. Do you understand?” Hannibal spoke matter-of-factly, in a soothing, throaty tone. Then his brow knitted more thoughtfully. “Were you going to kill yourself afterwards?”

“Y-yes,” Will sobbed, taking Hannibal’s hand -- absurdly, leaning on him slightly to stand back up again -- “Yes. I’d cut myself where you cut me, deeper. Harder.”

“We’d bleed out together, wrapped in a final embrace.” Hannibal smiled, seeing the symmetry. “It seems a suitable ending, if we must have one. I’d rather die by your hand than any other cause, and I would have appreciated a slow, painful conclusion. I wouldn’t want you to hold back from me in what you inflict, what you take.”

“Hannibal.” Will was drowning again, clutching for land, dreaming of a release into blackness that never came. “ _Hannibal._ ” He cried and Hannibal held him to his bare chest, massaging his back and smelling him, God, smelling him in that same old obsessive way. Will needed it, needed that obsession all around him and inside him, and he kissed Hannibal’s chest over his heartbeat. The beat skipped suddenly from steady to frantic. Will kissed again, tear-salted kisses followed by wet rubs of his cheek against soft thatches of hair and hot flesh beneath. He was losing control, he couldn’t seem to stop kissing. “Hannibal…”

The killer’s hands tightened on Will’s back, and it seemed this sudden outburst had overwhelmed him far more than the impromptu knifing. He cradled Will’s face, tipping it up to his all-consuming gaze, and he looked at Will with his red-rimmed eyes, chapped lips, and scarred cheek, as if the beauty of what he beheld was beyond his capacity to understand.

He traced Will’s nervously over-bitten mouth with an almost fearful reverence, then pressed a soft kiss to it, and Will moaned, his hand clamped to Hannibal’s pectoral. He kissed back, parting his lips to admit Hannibal’s gently questing tongue, and then he thought maybe he _had_ killed them both, but somehow -- impossibly -- he'd ended up in heaven. They were slick together and getting bolder, Hannibal sucking Will’s tongue, Will biting each of Hannibal’s lips in turn, flicking his thumb over Hannibal’s nipple as the older man let out a husky moan. 

The feeling of giving Hannibal pleasure kicked into an immediate addiction as Will tugged his chest hair and kissed again, hard and greedy. Hannibal still held Will’s face in his hands like priceless treasure, sighing as his skin grew hotter under Will’s touch, breaking out in perspiration he longed to lick. They tasted of the scotch they’d had with dinner, caramel-salt with a lingering spicy bite in the finish, and Will swooned, slightly slumping as Hannibal leaned against the counter for support, his stomach no doubt still smarting from the fresh cut.

“Let me take you to bed,” Hannibal sighed, fisting Will’s shirt hard behind his back, tentatively letting his other hand wander under the flannel to find the smiling scar. Will shivered and bit Hannibal’s neck and said “ _Yes._ ”

***

Hannibal undressed Will as they stood by the bed, and the process seemed to sway by in a sort of slow dance, the unravelling of all Will’s careful but fragile defenses. Blue flannel fluttering to the floor, jeans slipping down, Hannibal’s sighs of admiration and the pulse throbbing in his throat, Hannibal’s hand cupping the bulge at the front of Will’s briefs, and Will needing and needing and needing. 

It was cold in the room, so they got under the covers and began making love by candlelight, Hannibal still going slow because he knew Will had never done this with a man before. Every touch, every kiss, every new, strange experience brought out a different tone, depth, pitch and volume in the noises Will would make in response, and Hannibal kept _growling_ about it. Will pulled him close on top and held Hannibal’s body between his thighs, legs hitched around Hannibal’s hips. He admired the waning candle glow on Hannibal’s face and thought he could have stayed like that forever, just watching and wanting, if it weren’t for the _need._

“Take off your pants,” he whispered, releasing Hannibal and gasping as the other man unsheathed his thick, fully hard cock, then rubbed it lovingly against Will’s thigh.

“My Will,” Hannibal smiled, kissing Will’s lips again and again, and rubbing, grinding, _fuck_ , God why hadn’t they done this years ago? So much wasted time -- and tonight Will had almost taken all their time away forever, but Hannibal spoke again, kissing away his self-resentment and horror of what he still might do one day to both of them. 

“I want to be in you like I was that night.” Hannibal caressed the scar on Will’s belly again. “But harder, deeper. All the way this time. Pleasure, not punishment. I was afraid of you then and what you made me feel, but I’m not afraid anymore.”

“I’m yours,” Will sighed, “Yours. Show me.”

Hannibal hummed as he kissed down Will’s neck, scenting his sweat-shimmering skin as much as he liked, marking him repeatedly with brisk bites that made Will’s dick grow taut and heavy. A shiver of prideful delight went through him, that it pleased Hannibal to claim him with such fervor, sucking a painful bruise into the place where his jaw met his neck, then licking between his collarbone. He took Will’s nipple into his mouth and sucked ravenously, fingers twisting and tugging at the other one before switching sides. He bit down on the rosy peak he’d rendered hard and straining, and admired the way Will looked with his saliva spread all over his chest and gleaming on his nipples, before he kissed and licked a path down Will’s belly. Will put his hands in Hannibal’s hair and just about managed to hold back from shoving him lower. 

“Lovely,” Hannibal smiled, licking Will’s scar and nibbling at it, Will moaning, lost in a soft paradise all the while. “So lovely, my darling. You are perfect.”

Perfect? Will thought about his collection of ugly scars and the cowardly way he’d been hiding his true self and he couldn’t even vaguely comprehend what Hannibal saw in him. 

“Will?” Hannibal lifted himself over Will again so they were face to face. He kissed Will’s lips, then the stab mark with which Dolarhyde had marred his cheek, then he gazed again, sea-glass amber eyes glinting with irrepressible fondness. “Don’t look so worried. You must know how much I love you.”

“I can’t...take this, I don’t deserve…” Will’s lip wobbled and he started to shrink away, but Hannibal caressed his arms and brought him back with careful patience. 

“Yes, you can.” Hannibal moved down the bed and licked a delicate stripe up the length of Will’s pulsing, rigid cock. “Yes, you do.”

Precum dribbled from Will and Hannibal lapped it up with a purr, then proceeded to drive Will completely out of his mind by sucking him deep, then teasing with kisses to his cock, thighs, and balls. He kissed as he would kiss Will’s lips, with wet, insatiable worship, and when he finally stopped playing and swallowed Will’s cock down, Will burst like a light had been switched on inside him, hips arching with a harsh mewl. He trembled, realizing Hannibal had swallowed his cum and was now painstakingly licking his body in search of any spare drop, and his body didn’t feel like it usually did right after orgasm, wrung dry and in need of rest. He had to have more of Hannibal now, but Hannibal knew this.

“We can have everything we ever dreamed of having together, Will.” Hannibal kissed him senseless again, leaving his lips dripping with saliva and small bubbles of blood and his own cum, and Will thought with a distant, unimportant twinge of self-consciousness, this was the loudest he had ever moaned.

“Let me,” he managed to blurt, reaching for Hannibal’s hips, urging him up to tease Will’s dirty mouth with his cock. Hannibal braced his hands on the pillow beside Will’s head and eased his dick between Will’s lips, then began slowly rocking in and out, in and out...Will thought about this delectable, warm, throbbing length being inside his ass instead and grew wild with his oral attentions. He had zero experience, but he moaned again around Hannibal’s girthy, salty-slick cock and slurped, licked and sucked. It was amazing, to taste Hannibal like this and hear him responding with guttural grunts and cries; his own cock gave a small, aspirational twitch and he dug his fingers hard into Hannibal’s hips.

Hannibal withdrew carefully, shuddering as his eyes rolled up in the momentary pain of deprivation. “Sweet boy,” he shivered, “You are full of surprises.”

He spent a long time preparing Will for what came next, murmuring continuous litanies of appreciation, and the sheets were wet with lube and spit while Will trembled like a leaf in a thunderstorm. Hannibal seemed to go on in a euphoric daze, tracing Will’s hole with his tongue, plunging his fingers in, pulling them out to tongue-fuck, smoothing his hands under Will’s thighs to comfort him, then spanking his ass without warning, the combination of pleasure and pain so acute that Will couldn’t imagine anything better.

Then Hannibal slid a pillow under his ass and lined himself up, pushing in first with just the head of his cock, both of them groaning at the first ecstatic feel of Will stretching around him. There was no way, Will thought, grabbing at Hannibal’s shoulders in a flutter of surreal anticipation, no way all of that was possibly going to fit inside him. His own body felt, even after all that preparation, just as tight as ever, but Hannibal shifted his hips back and _in_ , and the next few inches slid smoothly forward. 

“God -- fuck --” Will keened with full-body bliss and something snapped in Hannibal at the sight of it, the way their bodies joined with sleek, hot instinctive ease so that even the jolt of friction sent Will into breathless whimpers. 

“You feel so good,” Will murmured in wonderment, tracing his hand down Hannibal’s chest and stomach, over the bandaged wound. There was blood spotting the gauzy cotton, but it was contained and did not gush as Will had feared. “So much mine,” he added definitively.

Hannibal moaned and slid in as deep as he could get, staying right there for a few moments to get his breath back. His heart hammered under Will’s palm as his eyes bore into him just as intensely, pale lashes fluttering, lips gently parted. 

“More please,” Will said, softly, knowing how Hannibal liked him to act, the things that turned him on. 

He’d used these coquettish tactics to his advantage over the years in such underhanded ways that hurt himself more than anything. Now he could bat his own lashes and lick his lips and say wantonly, “ _Please,_ ” with all the happiness that came with knowing it was honest and for Hannibal to enjoy and take. Nothing complicated, no tricks, no games. _Just us._

Hannibal lifted Will’s leg to his shoulder and fucked into him harder, reigniting the pulsing bliss he had started with his fingers pressing to Will’s prostate. Will murmured hotly between long, blistering kisses, “fuck me, Hannibal,” and Hannibal picked up speed, thrusting faster and panting. It was an exultant thrill to feel Hannibal losing control of himself entirely, muttering “Will” again and again as he rutted rougher, with less calculation, moving out of pure animal craving. Will roved his hands over Hannibal’s smooth, shapely ass and squeezed, then pushed when Hannibal thrust forward. 

Hannibal came with a hoarse cry, spilling with abandon inside Will, letting Will’s leg fall from his shoulder as he sat back, spasming hard into Will while he rode out his pleasure. Will grasped his own dick and stroked it quickly, breathlessly until he came again and Hannibal watched him with hazy rapture.

They clung together and Will kept trying to say again he was sorry, and Hannibal laughed softly, covering Will’s mouth with his hand, snuggling up behind him like he had in their dingy, wonderful motel room. “You can kill me tomorrow or keep me forever, Will. I don’t need your apologies.”

“How do you _do_ that?” Will asked, bewildered and impressed. He held onto Hannibal’s leg where it was flung possessively over his own. “You just walk through the fire all the time without flinching, without fear. You let me see how much you loved me, even when it was clear I was far too bull-headed and blind to accept it, and that was— not even a trust fall, there was nowhere safe for you to fall.”

“There was the ocean,” Hannibal said with a smile in his voice, “and your heart. I had nowhere else to go.”

“You’re so brave. I can’t really fathom it.”

“I do have a few shortcomings as well.”

Will laughed, “Yes, just a few.”

He got up after a few minutes and came back with a warm, wet cloth, carefully cleaning them both before returning to Hannibal’s arms. His lover blew out the candles and pulled the ragged second-hand quilt up over them both, and they were home. Just like that, Will felt brave, and he understood what it would mean.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Lana Del Rey song. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed! 💖


End file.
